


Statement of Blume Leitner

by louare



Series: Statements of: SPM [1]
Category: Super Paper Mario (Game), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Parenting, F/M, Happy Ending, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SPM Entity AU, also blu has a different name, au where jurgen leitner is blumiere's dad and things somehow turn out better for him than in canon, blumiere is not an avatar btw!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louare/pseuds/louare
Summary: Statement of Blume Leitner, regarding his father's library. Recorded direct from subject. Statement begins.(an original crossover statement written in sorta transcript style. no prior knowledge is needed of either series to understand this.)
Relationships: Count Bleck | Blumiere/Lady Timpani | Tippi
Series: Statements of: SPM [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890253
Kudos: 7





	Statement of Blume Leitner

**Author's Note:**

> “What! Jurgen Leitner’s son came in to give a statement, and no one thought it prudent to even call me?!”  
> “You were still kidnapped Jon.”  
> “That’s no excuse!” 
> 
> i became obsessed w/ the tma podcast recently, so of course, i got inspired to write a crossover fic with another of my main fandoms. it was a lot of fun to write this!

“Are, are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I... I might get off track a little, but I’ll try to keep it to the point.”

“Right, no, take your time. Um, just- say what you need to. Alright. 

**Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, taking the statement of Blume Leitner, regarding his father’s library. Statement recorded direct from subject, 19 th, January. Statement begins.**

Um, go ahead.”

[A throat clears.]

So, first off, I’m blue. And I’m not just talking about my skin; that’s my name, too, Blume Leitner. Everyone just calls me Blu, though. It’s preferable to Blume. 

I saw the receptionist staring when I came in though, and I just wanted to set some things straight: no, it’s not some unheard of, deadly, terrifying disease. I’m from the Tribe of Darkness.

Yes, there’s some of us still around. You could say I’m one of be lucky ones. I was already living with Timpani when... the deaths happened. Or suicides, as some call them, although, who really knows what happened? Oh, Timpani’s my wife- human, by the way- but I mean- she’s really not what I’m here to talk about.

I’m here to talk about my father.

He’s become rather famous, really. I’m sure you people have heard of him. Jurgen Blume Leitner, the famous librarian. Grambi only knows what possessed him to inscribed the damn family name in them. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve thought about taking Timpani’s last name- maybe I could finally stop getting hounded by those humans, angry about how father ruined their lives, or killed one of their loved ones. It’s not that I don’t feel anything for them, really, I do. But why come to me about it? He wasn’t exactly around much during my childhood. He was always in that library of his, him and the dozens- perhaps it was only dozens. It could have been hundreds, for all I know. I do not remember the faces, nor the names of any of the many, many assistants my father hired to keep up his library. I only remember that they very rarely left. 

It started, when, at my birth, my mother passed. I am told this was the ‘beginning’ of his obsession with the books, at least, that is by my former butlers opinion, but I like to think it started much later- or at least, up to a certain point, it wasn’t yet an obsession, just a high interest. He was there during my early years, as I grew. I can remember a smattering of small, isolated incidents from my childhood- all good. It wasn’t that he was a bad father. I can’t even say that now. Those books, they just… 

I remember one time when I was five or six, and we were sitting in my private library together. You would not be surprised to find out, that I had my own library at that age, but you might be surprised to find out I rarely read anything in that room. Reading was never my interest, something I’m sure disappointed my father at the time, but he made his peace, and often took up my attention with, of all things, puzzle boxes. 

Any sort would do- will do, really. I’ve long since turned my attention to Sudoku and the like, but if you look closely, I’ve still got the shelves at home lined with the things. Timpani always teases me about them… 

I think this must have been one my first ones, however. Father had given it to me that morning, and I hadn’t come any closer to solving it. After seeing me struggle with it for several more minutes, he began guiding me, leading me through each step one by one. Near the end, I suddenly went ahead of him, making the final few presses without his assistance. The box popped open with a click, and I immediately looked to him for his reaction, not even caring what prize was waiting inside. The look of pride and happiness on his face, to this day, remains as one of my most treasured memories. And then he laughed, and stole my prize- a piece of candy. I tried to wrestle him to get it back. 

I believe that was the last real moment I had with my father without any of those- books on his mind. The last real moment before they-it- whatever those books were sucked him in, and he was lost to me. After that day, things changed; I saw my father less and less. From the days I would see him all throughout the day, ready to engage me in some act of learning or play, those responsibilities were foisted off onto the servants. I acquired a butler, a nanny, and a tutor, but at the same time, I lost my father entirely. 

There was a single period, perhaps lasting a year or so, when he would still emerge from the library at meals, and I would see him then, but even those times started to wear off. At first it was breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then, only at supper, and then, not at all. For several weeks, I remember, I would sit there, at the dining table, hoping for him to come and eat with me. I would ask him about the gardens, I thought, or perhaps talk about puzzles; anything but those books, and maybe he’ll forget about them. Maybe he’ll even come and play with me for a bit. 

He never did come. Eventually, I learned to take my meals in my room as well, and leave the dining room empty, a dark, blank shell of a place I had once shared so many happy meals in. 

Around my ninth birthday is when the assistants started trickling in. Like I said, I hardly remember them, so please, don’t ask me for specifics. There were so many over the years, I can’t even begin to count them. All I remember is that there were _many_ of them, and they never lasted long. Some only a fortnight, and some barely a day. I’d know, because I would watch them as they left for the day, and there was always fewer than who came in that morning. I used to convince myself that they were only staying for extra research, or whatever work my father had put them up to, but I think I knew, deep down, what had happened.

Something else that was odd, too, was that they weren’t just tribe members- there were humans among the assistants that flocked through the castle. I suppose I didn’t think much of it back then, but that _is_ odd, correct? We were at the heart of what was Tribe of Darkness territory back then. How would the humans have gotten through safely, especially with the current distrust between us?

Perhaps it was something my father set up. It’s not as if he told me anything. Long gone were those days; I spent much of my time in my room, fighting boredom. I replayed old puzzles, working my hands through their solutions until even they felt tired of it. I even read a bit- not much, and not often. Reading bored me, like I’ve said before. The servants were no better company either. The amount of socializing I acquired… I realize now that wasn’t healthy. Timpani’s helped, a lot. It took a long time for me to be comfortable, out among people. She was so surprised- I still remember the look on her face when I told her I’d never even been to a store, much less a town, or city. Even the village seemed enormous to me, and the people… I’m sorry. You don’t have to make that- I can tell when you’re getting bored. I’ll get back to the point.

“No no, I’m not-“

It’s fine, I promise. Anyways. I thought of leaving, more than once, but at the time, it felt… like a sin, almost. That’s silly to say, but it really did: it was like one final barrier, a final unspoken rule between me and my father, that I would not leave the castle without his leave. It would be…. Sanctimonious. Funny. I was soon not to care.

It was one night, late, I got it in my head to confront him. I was older- maybe thirteen? Fifteen? I honestly can’t remember. I’d been having trouble sleeping recently. I would dream of the long, dark corridors of the castle, and every door I opened, I would see the library inside- my library, not my fathers. It was different in the dream world. My personal effects were missing- my papers, puzzles, everything. Even tables. There were only the bookshelves lining the walls, looming, seeming larger than before, and a single pedestal, centered in the dead middle of the room. It always held a book, splayed open, it’s pages rustling gently in some sort of unfelt breeze.

It knew my name. The book. That’s- insane, I know, but I know it knew it, because it would call to me. I never approached, but every door I opened, the book would call, and its voices would combine and grow louder and louder until they were shrieking, and I would wake up in a sweat, still hearing its voice ringing in my ears. It’d felt like I’d been there for hours, but I would look at the clock, and only a few minutes had past.

I was sure, it had to be something of my father’s doing. Something to do with those books of his- it was the most obvious conclusion, honestly- and I got it into my head to confront him. I woke up, shivering in the aftermath of one of those dreams, and it all snapped into place- I had to confront him, do _something,_ or this would never stop. I fetched my cloak. It was oddly cold, and it shouldn’t have been- it was June, or July perhaps, I know, because my birthday had just passed. It shouldn’t have been cold. It really shouldn’t have been. That’s… sorry.

It didn’t take me long to make it to the library. It was only a floor or so away from my rooms, and the lingering dream hastened my steps; before long, I arrived at the double doors to the family library. They were more worn than I recalled, but I paid no attention to the fact, instead reaching, and trying the handle.

They were locked.

It shocked me to the core, and for a moment, I stood frozen, the gold handle uselessly stagnant and cold under my hand. That was the last thing I expected. Locked. Against me, because who else would it be locked for? No, all of his assistants probably had a personal key, but I wasn’t even allowed to enter our own family library.

In a sudden rush, all of that surprise turned to hate and rage ; I started banging on the doors, screaming at someone to let me in- how dare he locked these door against me? How dare he lock himself inside, hiding from me, not even granting me the privilege of coming to see him? I didn’t care- I was getting in, whether I had to tear those doors down or not.

Just as I was beginning to consider doing just that, someone finally answered, and it wasn’t even my father. It was another of his assistants, a tribe woman. Petite, and short enough that she had to look up at me, but her face was stern and set, like a block of stone. Unmoving.

I told her that I wished to see my father.

She told me, in no uncertain terms, that such a thing wouldn’t be possible. Lord Leitner was unavailable at the moment, and wasn’t to be disturbed.

I wanted to scream at her. I can’t even imagine today, how I restrained myself not to. It was through gritted teeth I told her, I was his son and I would be seeing him at this very moment, whether he liked it or not.

My hands were in fists at my side, though I didn’t remember making them. I would have hurt her, I think. That’s- scary to say, but I was close to snapping, and it wasn’t as if… I had great personal skills at the time, you know? I wanted to get inside, and talk to him, and I was going to do that, and it didn’t matter what I had to do to accomplish that. I was just… _so_ angry. It crawled underneath my skin, festering, bubbling. I felt like I was about to burst.

Just as the woman opened her mouth to retort, a voice came from behind her, and she looked back over her shoulder, snapping something back. I couldn’t make out any of the words, but I strained to look through the crack. I caught a glimpse of bookshelves and candle light before the woman retreated back into the library, one hand holding the door. The conversation inside died to incompressible mutters, and I was left to fume out in the hallway, waiting.

Finally, the door opened again, and the woman regarded me, this time her face blank. ‘Lord Leitner will see you,” she said, a slight scowl forming as she saw how I lit up, ‘But only out here.”

‘Fine,’ I said. I didn’t care, as long as I would see him. ‘Let him come out here then.’

The woman looked behind her, muttering something, and after a moment, she stepped aside. A stranger emerged, looking at me expectantly, and I could only stare back in response.

That wasn’t my father. But it was immediately evident, then, from the look at both him and the woman, that I was expected to believe it was.

This man who came out, was, first off, _human._ I swear to you. He was a human, in his ears, his face, his eyes. Everything. He didn’t even resemble my father, in any manner- my father was tall, and thin- this man was short, barely even reaching my height, and his build was stout, thick. Father had thick black hair, this man was blonde, and his hair was thin enough that I could see the skin of his wrinkled scalp.

But his voice… it was the same, and it rattled me even further as this- imposter spoke. I remember every word he said- I mean, I couldn’t _not_ remember them. I must have thought them over a thousand times since then, trying to think, trying to compare, if that voice _really_ was my fathers. If that’s how he spoke, if that was his manner. It had been years, certainly, since I’d last seen him, since I’d last heard his voice, and I just… I can’t remember. I couldn’t then, and I still can’t. Maybe I don’t want to.

The stranger told me, ‘I was in the middle of something important, son, what is the matter?’ he said it gruffly, like I truly had been interrupting something important, but… there was no irritation in his face. There was a look of concern, genuine concern mixed in there, with the exhaustion and weariness already present.

‘You’re not my father,’ I said. ‘Where is he? Bring him out here, now!”

He said something else then too, but, I wasn’t paying him any attention. My eyes had caught sight of the book in his hands, and it was enough to make me take a step back, wanting desperately to run but too prideful to yet make a break for it. 

It was the same book from my dreams. There was no mistaking it.

As if it had noticed my gaze upon it, the book seemed... this insane. I swear, but I – I know what I saw. It _moved._ The book shuddered, its cover creaking like it ached to be open, and the man who was not my father tightened its grip on it, holding it shut. I saw the stranger’s knuckles turn white under the strain.

I muttered excuses, or, at least tried to. All I could think about was getting away as soon as I could, and I started backing away down the hall. All I could think of was escape, and the stranger seemed content enough to let me go, although he still had that damn look of concern on his face. The book shuddered again, and I quickened my pace, desperate to get away before it…

I was too late. Before I could get out of its reach, I heard it, I heard the voice that had so long haunted my dreams- the book. It called my name, it _screamed_ it, so loud that it seemed to echo all around me, repeating my name, again and again. It _wanted_ me.

I ran. I can’t remember how I got there, but when I came back to myself I was back in my rooms, collapsed in my bed, sweating, shivering, as if the entire experience had been a nightmare. I would’ve been inclined to believe it as one too, if I hadn’t still been wearing my cloak and slippers.

It took me several days to rationalize what had happened. I had to rationalize it, of course. I could do nothing else. I didn’t have anyone I was close enough to seek help from- the only people I knew were the servants, and they were always polite to me, but… distant. I think I know why now, though.

It took several nights, but eventually, I convinced myself that it had been a trick. My father didn’t respect me enough to even meet me briefly, and so he sent one of his- _hundreds_ of assistants to ward me off instead. The idea lit a fire in me, only rekindling that special hate I held in my heart for him.

I… I didn’t dare try to enter the library again though.

Angry and bitter, I decided to break that one unspoken rule I had upheld for so many years. I left the castle. The first time was terrifying- I didn’t even make it off the estate. The second and third times, the same. Eventually, though, it lost that special bit of terror it held, and I finally began to actually see the world outside of the castle.

I stayed away from towns and cities; I had no want for whatever people and questions awaited there. I stayed to places of nature, the forests, rivers, and such. I even wandered towards the human civilizations, knowing that my father would disapprove. I don’t know what I was hoping for. That he had secretly been watching me, all these years, and would pop up the moment I step out of line? He never did, of course, neither him nor the imposter. In truth, I never saw my father again.

But these rebellious wanderings did lead to something. It led me to meet Timpani.

When I was twenty years old, I ventured too far to a cliff’s edge, and before I knew it, I fell. I remember the ground giving way beneath my feet, and me, trying to jump back, but being a second too late- I grabbed for the rock as it swiftly passed by, and only got a scrape on my arm for my trouble, and down I went. 

Falling isn’t weightless, really. It’s everything all at once _pressing_ on you. I screamed, and the noise died before it could even travel past my lips, swallowed by the wind and the everything that whipped around me. I felt a terror, more poignant than anything else I’d ever felt, even more than what I’d felt that night, outside the library. It blinded me, and struck me numb, and before I knew it, everything went black. 

I believe I’d fainted before I even hit the ground. Looking back, it wasn’t a long fall, to be honest. I think it was my terror that lengthened it, made it seem like I was falling for longer that it was. In any case, when I awoke, I was lying in a bed, in a bright, warm room I had never seen before. 

That was the day I met my wife. Timpani. 

I know, I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about her, but she is an important part of this story. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t think I’d be here- and I’m not just talking about the cliff. Alright, I know what you’re thinking- I wasn’t trying to kill myself. Not-not really. I won’t deny that I was thinking about it. At the time, I had no one- the servants weren’t my friends, and were barely companions, and… you already know about my father. Sure, I could’ve gone to anyone of the nearby towns, but… the thought seemed so foreign and foolish really, I didn’t even consider it for more than a second. But when Timpani came into my life, all of that changed. For the first time, I had someone.

But, what I mean is – I… I think I’ll get there. We’re getting close.

Timpani had found me at the bottom of the cliff base, and brought me back into her home. I had a few broken bones and scraps as it went, but nothing too serious, surprisingly. I could’ve left right then. She did a wonderful job of patching me up, but I didn’t want to leave. She was so kind to me, even though I was from the tribe of darkness, and, in all honesty, an awkward, probably spoiled wreck. I stayed there for a least a week, feigning my injuries to be worse than they were, until finally, with a… bit of gentle prodding, I left for a castle.

Well- ‘gentle prodding’ isn’t the right turn of phrase. Timpani isn’t so meandering- she’s more likely to cut straight to point than dance around it. She asked me why I was so reluctant to leave, I more or less swallowed my tongue trying to come up with excuses, and she asked again- no judgement in her voice, or anger, or- anything. She asked if there was something I was running away from.

I suppose, she suspected what circumstances had led me to the top of that cliff. Over the next hour or so, I confirmed them. I told her everything, just as I’m telling you here; and when I finished, she laid a hand on my arm, and said, she didn’t mind me staying her, at least until I could find myself a new living, outside of my father’s castle. I couldn’t tell then if she believe even half of my story, but I jumped at the opportunity, and returned to the castle the following morning to get what few things I cared for. I didn’t bother trying to tell anyone of my leaving; I gathered my clothes, my puzzles, and the few books I kept a fondness for, and left. Timpani hosted me in her spare room, and I was free.

I’ll skip over how long it took me to actually get- well, to what I can only describe as a normal level of functioning. Years, I can tell you that, and I’m… still not really that well today. That’s why it took me so long to come make a statement; Going in crowds makes my hands shake on the best of days, and makes me shut down completely on… still sometimes the best ones, hah. Timpani helped with that, of course, but I started therapy not too long after I first, and haven’t stopped. It’s not right to put my recovery on her, especially with the way I… _fell_ into her life?

Yeah, she hates that joke too.

I took up an apartment in town to be closer to my therapist and tentative part-time job, but after a few years of commuting back and forth between her house and mine, I moved back in again, this time for good. We’re still together now. And- I just want to say, her home isn’t any closer to the castle than the apartment was. I don’t think it would have made a difference. They were both outside the boundary line, and both a good enough distance away when it happened.

June, the 11th, 1994. It doesn’t really stick out, does it? It was 3 more months after that before the Tribe of Darkness started to die off- or really, was noticed to be dying off. It started that night. I wasn’t there, I wasn’t- but, I dreamed of it.

That night, I had that dream again, of being stuck in the endless hallways of the castle. But this time it was different. The corridors were narrower, and shorter, threatening to make me bend if I wanted to crawl through them. And every door I came across was locked, its contents forbidden to me.

I wandered through the halls, tracing the familiar pathways, until I came across a set of familiar, worn doors. Their gold edgings had long since been scraped off from repeated entry, the once strong wood seeming… spoiled. As if… eaten partially by termites, or if some animal had repeatedly clawed at it, demanding to be allowed in. Before I knew it, I stood in front of the horrid things, my hand resting on the knob, so discolored by the grease of the hundreds of hands that had turned it.

If I had really been there, I would have stopped myself, knowing that I truly wanted no part at what madness what happening behind those doors. My dream self, however, held no such hesitations. The doorknob turned smoothly under my fingers, and with a soundless sigh of air the door opened to let me bask in the scene behind it.

..I’m glad it was only a dream. I know, yes, I know it was of something real, but it was still just a dream to me, and in that way, I didn’t have to truly remember the… details. It’s fuzzy, like I’m seeing it through a veil. Scenes cut in and out of my memory without any semblance of being related.

The library was full of bodies. Human, and tribe member alike. Some lay mangled, and some lay whole and untouched, and a small number were just… rotted. Not even to the bone, but as if their corpses had been… As if their owners had walked into something, or passed through an unseen barrier, and had dropped, half-decayed sacks of flesh where they stood.

I took a step into the library, and there, it cuts out. I remember a flash of… a meat pile. Red, oozing, trembling meat, piled high almost to the ceiling, and clinging tight against its corner of the wall, as if defending it. I saw miles, it seemed, of empty bookshelves, clean and dusted but completely devoid of books. Not a page was left of them all. And then, I was suddenly back in the hallway again, just walking. The hall was empty, and it was lined with torches, as if they were meant to light the way, but every single one of them was dark. I walked, and time wasn’t a meaning. It didn’t pass, it just laid frozen.

Finally, I came to a door. And- this sounds odd, because I’ve never been inside the library, in person, in my life, not even as a child. But a part of me knew, as if instinct, that this door didn’t exist. Or rather- it hadn’t existed before. That it wasn’t supposed to be there, but it was, without a doubt, _there,_ and real.

My hand reached, without me bidding it for the knob. I didn’t want to open the door- just as it wasn’t supposed to be there, I wasn’t supposed to enter it either. Yet, my hand reached, and a grasped the knob, and began to turn it.

That’s when I woke up. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and listened to Timpani breathe beside me, and then turned over, went back to sleep, and forgot about most of it.

It’s been a few decades now, and I haven’t ever had one of those dreams again. At the very least, it assures me that my particular book was destroyed- I think… I think if it hadn’t been, it would have found me by now. It wanted me, though for whatever reason, I can’t say. I can say, however- keeping it away from me is perhaps the only good thing my father’s ever done for me. I don’t think he’s a bad man. You might find that hard to believe, seeing as I just told a story of how much I hated him, but I don’t think he was truly evil, in any capacity. He abandoned me, of course, but at least he made sure I was cared for.

The only thing I can’t forgive him for is the other books, the ones that survived. I know what that night had to do with the destruction of the tribe. Even now, the books are tormenting humans- I should know, I’ve been harassed by at least a dozen people now, all demanding answers. I just don’t know what to tell them anymore.

Like I said, I’ve been thinking of taking Timpani’s last name. 

[Pause]

“Is that enough?”

“Y…yes. That’s good.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give any more details. I just- it felt like the right time, right now, to come and tell my story. I’m sorry if it isn’t enough, it’s been-years, and it’s not as if I’ve been trying to remember it all.”

“No no, this is good. I… I will make sure the Archivist sees it when he comes in. And if you want, you can leave your contact information at the front desk, and we’ll let you know if there’s any follow up-“

“Don’t bother. I mean, I didn’t mean that so rude. I’d just rather put this all behind me, you know? I – It would be too soon if I never heard his name again.”

“Right. My bad.”

“If um… if we’re all done then?”

“Oh! Of course, you can go if you’d like. It uh- it can be a little tricky getting out, make sure you ask Rosie, at the desk, which- where to go.”

“Right.”

[A creak, and slam as the door opens and shuts]

“Whoo… Oh wow.” [muttering] “Jon’s never going to forgive me for taking this one, huh? God…”

[Click]

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically the good au- if blumiere got out and away from his father, and his dad wasn't in the right state of mind to try to come after him. i have a couple ideas for the rest of the gang (Mimi as Web, Nastasia as Spiral, O'Chunks as Death etc) but i'm going to get a little more caught up on the podcast before i really start in on writing them.


End file.
